The Eight Stages of Genesis
by Victoria Chrystallis
Summary: Loosely based from Shakespeare's Seven Ages of Man. Genesis Rhapsodos reflects on his previous life as he lies in wait for his moment of redemption.
1. Prologue

**The Eight Stages of Genesis**

* * *

**†**

**Lítost**  
(n.) Regret and remorse and repentance; a state of  
agony and torment; or sorrow said to be "created  
by the sight of one's own misery"

* * *

Prologue

Somewhere, water continuously dribbled down to the river below, creating a peculiar melody. It was a welcome sound to the man resting by one of the many alcoves of the cave. His crimson duster was worn out, its edges already beginning to flake and tatter from lack of maintenance, but he still pulled it tight against his body, trying to trap whatever warmth his body produced. If it was not for the placid rise and fall of his chest, he could have easily passed for a perfectly preserved corpse. Perhaps it was out of habit, this stillness of his, or perhaps it was from his years as SOLDIER First. Like a tiger, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on his unsuspecting prey… Like a repentant villain, waiting for his moment of absolution.

Here the great Genesis Rhapsodos lay. The man who'd only wanted to be hailed the hero, only to become the abhorred. Here he was, hidden away from the world; waiting for the day his honor would be restored. The price to pay for his second life is steep. Oh how much things had changed for him, he thought sardonically. He was now destined to be the hero, in some unforeseeable future, and yet he couldn't bring himself to be glad about it.

"Hn," he moaned as he shifted into a sitting position. There was no light, not even a tiny speck of it, here. Time felt irrelevant here.

Sucking in a deep breath, Genesis opened his eyes, even if the darkness remained the same. He felt blind, and it scared him the first couple times, but he learned how to accept the darkness. The cavern was just like his fate – desolate. It was perfect. He stretched his arms and legs, groaning as he did so. They were beginning to ache from lethargy.

Oftentimes, Genesis spent his time wondering about the world beyond his. But he did not dare leave, unless it was strictly necessary. He did not want to be seen, he didn't want to see.

LOVELESS no longer appealed to him as much as it had. But the book still sat in his duster's pocket. It's once pristine leather cover was yellowing now. He had it all figured out – the roles in the poem. Irately, he had to admit that he had been wrong about countless things regarding his beloved poem. A tiny seed of pleasure had lodged in his heart at the memory of his encounter with Minerva, when the pieces finally fell together. A spiteful smile crept into his lips as he remembered the moment she sent him back to the world.

Why, he asked so many times. Even if his degradation had been lifted along with all his discomfort, Genesis still suffered greatly, because Minerva hadn't taken away all his pains. The Goddess couldn't take away the scars he'd received, etched in his heart. He felt no pain, but he felt great remorse, guilt. And guilt to the soul was what pain was to the body.

It was dreadfully tranquil around him.

It was a different story, however, in his head.

For inside his memories, was where Genesis truly lived these days.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Ah, my first love, Genesis.

I've missed writing about this man! I was thinking of writing a new romance fic, but I just couldn't come up with any ideas. For now, I'll just satisfy the desire of the English Major that now sits prominently in my head and try to let you see him in a new light. It's already quite challenging, mind you. Hehe. But if I remain in my fluffy comfort zone forever then I won't grow as a writer, now would I? As GACKT always seems to say: "Only GACKT can defeat GACKT." - Um, well, in my case, "Only I can defeat me." Hahaha! I will be needing your guidance and support, reader, in order for this story to fully become what I had roughly plotted out. Hahaha.

Thank you for reading!

Anyowls, how'd you find the prologue?

Victoria Chrystallis


	2. Part One - The Innocent

**Part One **

**The Innocent**

* * *

†

"_The saddest thing about betrayal is that  
it never comes from your enemies.  
It comes from the ones you never thought would."  
- Anonymous_

"_Until you heal the wounds of your past,  
you are going to bleed.  
You can bandage the bleeding  
with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work,  
with cigarettes, with sex;  
But eventually, it will all ooze through  
and stain your life.  
You must find the strength  
to open the wounds,  
stick your hands inside,  
pull out the core of the pain  
that is holding you in your past,  
the memories,  
and make peace with them."  
– Iyanla Vanzant_

†

* * *

**Act One | The Charmed Life of the Banora Prince**

"Genesis!" his mother groaned crossly upon seeing the muddy footsteps he trailed behind him. Irene Rhapsodos was standing on the stairs, hands resting on her hips, eyes narrowed. She was a beautiful woman – the most beautiful dame in the town – with flaxen hair and blue eyes that you could lose yourself into. "Look at yourself!" she snapped, "You're so _filthy." _Of course he didn't need to look at his reflection in the giant ornate mirror in the foyer, because Genesis knew what he looked like. He'd gotten his the left leg of his shorts ripped because it got caught by a tree branch; his shoes appeared to be completely caked with mud. The boy shuffled uneasily beneath his mother's gaze. "Oh, hurry up and get clean, Genesis. We've got guests coming tonight!" Irene said more gently. "What are you hiding behind your back, baby?" she asked, knitting her brows together. The boy squirmed and looked at his mother shyly. "Come on, show it to Mummy." Irene was descending now. A toothy smile spread on the boy's features when his mother was close enough. "These are for you!" he said, proudly thrusting a bouquet of rapidly wilting wild flowers towards his Mum. "Oh my! Thank you, they're beautiful baby!" she gasped taking the tiny bouquet from her son and inhaling their sweet essence. "This was so very thoughtful of you, honey, but I wish you'd be more careful." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. When she drew back, her nose was wrinkled. "Yes, you definitely need a bath. Up, now."

He liked taking baths, mostly because his mother told him mythological stories as she shampooed his hair. She loved literature, and he loved listening to her tell him of the stories her books held. Their entire attic had been converted into a library. There, mother and son would spend hours on end snuggled close to each other, reading stories of old. Irene loved mythology and poetry the most.

Genesis loved how gentle his mother's fingers were as she kneaded his sweaty scalp. Robert, his rubber duck, floated aimlessly about in the bubbly water. Irene was telling him the story of Hercules. The young Genesis gasped with wonder as his mother regaled him of the hero's adventures. He loved how wonderfully strong the hero was, but Genesis did not like that he let his emotions cloud his judgment. "Mummy, how come he's a hero when he's not smart?" he asked her as she toweled him dry later.

Irene looked at her son and pinched the tip of his nose. "But Hercules isn't just a buffoon," she told him slowly, "because even if he holds grudges, he would still do anything to help out his friends. Hercules has a very just conscience when his head clears – he will do anything to repent for his wrongs. During his punishments, Hercules showed many good values such as patience, fortitude, and endurance. He persevered through the terrible things Hera's hatred caused him, and that, my son, is important. Remember that being a hero does not simply entail artless strength." She ruffled his damp hair and asked him playfully, "Do _you_ want to be a hero?"

Eyes shining, the little boy said yes. "But not a stupid hero, I'll be better than Hercules!"

She smiled at him, and for a blazing moment, Genesis thought he saw something flash in his mother's eyes. "I know you will be. Now, let's go change. Wouldn't want you to get a cold, now would we?"

He was wearing a white button down shirt and tie similar to his father's. But his father had a coat, and he didn't. Instead, he had on a burgundy knit sweater. Genesis didn't like his hair combed flat and parted at the dead center, and tucked behind his ears. His mother was miffed about his cowlick.

"When are your guests coming, Papa, I'm _dyiiing_," he groveled, resting his head on the dining table. "I'm _hungry_. I want to eat _now!_" Genesis folded his arms across his chest. "Who do your guests think they are, keeping us waiting so long…" he continued to grumble.

"Manners, Genesis, manners," Felipe admonished the boy.

Finally, an eternity later, the doorbell rang. Both his parents shot to their feet and practically bolted for the door. Genesis remained where he was, harrumphing all he liked. He heard his parents greet the visitors and the visitors politely apologize for being late. His ears suddenly felt unaccustomed to so much talking, and it ticked him off more.

It was a business dinner.

His father and the other man talked and talked about things Genesis couldn't understand, so he didn't listen. Meanwhile, the wives were making small talk about their children. Irene boasted to the other that Genesis was getting very good at reciting poetry. The other wife rebuked with saying that her daughter was good at playing the piano and harp, it was a shame, however, that the girl was sick that night. "Oh, I tried to teach my boy the piano when he was just three," Irene said, "but he didn't have much patience for it. Boys will be boys. Perhaps when he gets older."

"He's a heart breaker," the woman said in a syrupy voice, "you'll have to be very careful when he gets older, hahaha!"

Genesis was forced to smile, to be polite.

When the dinner was over, Irene excused herself to tuck Genesis to bed while his father and the guests talked some more about whatever they've been talking about all night.

His mother helped him out of his itchy dinner clothes and into his pajamas. Genesis wasted no time in ruining the severe hairstyle his mother had done for him. "Go brush your teeth," Irene said, clamping her own with a loud snap. He brushed his teeth carefully, like his Mummy taught him to, because he wanted to eat dumbapple candies and pastries. You won't get to eat any if you had bad teeth, she told him when he said he'd brush in the morning.

"Let me see those chompers," she said as he rushed out of his bathroom. She was holding his duvet for him. Genesis slid into the silky sheets, giggling. He looked up at his mother and opened his mouth wide for her to see his clean, spotless teeth. "Very good." Irene kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Sleep well, honey," she whispered as she stood by the doorway.

Genesis looked at his mother and smiled. "Do the bugs!"

A smile spread on her ruby lips. "Night, night, don't let he bed bugs bite." The light went off.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

So here's the official first chapter. Ehehe, quite nervous about it actually. Did I write it too sloppily?

Hmm. I'll let you be the judge of that!

Thank you for reading! Also, special thanks to Genny Crescent, for having the heart to cheer me on; and to _Elza Eldaniella 1, Metarex, maskofjack_ and to _starlit-pancake! _

Would totally love to hear from you,

VC


	3. Part One - Act Two

**Act Two - Two sides**

* * *

Sometimes, Mummy would disappear.

Papa wouldn't let me in. He'd block their bedroom door and tell me that Mummy was feeling ill, having a headache. He'd tell me that she'll be out later, then ask me if I wanted to join him for a ride through the orchard. I would always say yes, because Papa would let me sit in front of him as his horse, Zeus, sped through the orchard. I liked riding on Papa's horse. He'd promised to give me my own when I got older.

But one day, I snuck in their room. The door had been left unlocked. Papa was standing behind Mummy in their bathroom, his back to me, as she knelt in front of the toilet. She was making really scary noises. I stood there, frozen. What was happening to Mummy? I wanted to run to her and make her better, but I couldn't move. Papa only stood there, holding her hair. Then, she caught sight of me as she washed her face through the mirror. She pointed at me and Papa ushered me out, wordlessly.

When Mummy would come out later, she would be happy again. But the mornings when I wasn't allowed in their room to kiss Mummy good morning increased. When Papa did let me in, I would crawl from the foot of the bed and pop out beside her, lay my head on half her pillow and kiss her cheek. She would open her eyes and smile at me. Her pillow always smelled like cherries – but I would later think better of it, and identify the scent as alcohol.

"Who loves you the most in the whole wide world?" she would ask me always.

I would always say, "Mummy!"

And I think it meant so much more to her than to me. Her eyes would get glassy and she would blush before kissing my forehead every time.

Sometimes I wanted to tell Mummy not to disappear. I didn't like it, because when she disappeared in the mornings, she wouldn't be back for days. She wasn't the Mummy I knew, even if she was smiling. She kept her distance from me whenever she was having those moods of hers, and I was left to entertain myself. Whenever she was having one of her moods, she looked at me with different eyes. It was as if she hated me. What did I do? I wanted to beg her to tell but she would only walk out.

Papa wouldn't tell me anything either, because he was always out in the orchard or in his study. He didn't like being disturbed while he worked. I didn't see him much before dinner. He wasn't very affectionate, towards me or to my Mum. Never did I see him kiss her or touch her affectionately. I thought it was normal that they didn't. They didn't talk like lovey-dovey couples Mum would read to me; she would say that these sorts of conversations were stupid. They spoke politely to each other, like co-workers would. Papa did not even call Mummy 'dear', 'honey', 'sweetheart', just 'Irene'. And she in turn would simply call him 'Felipe'. Genesis called them Mummy and Papa.

"How would you feel... Genesis... if I wasn't your Mummy?" she asked me one night as she tucked me into bed. She was wearing a loose night gown and her hair was already a mess. I looked up at her and scowled. "I would find you, because you're the Mummy I love."

A faint smile ghosted his mother's lips then. "I love you, son." She kissed his forehead and left.

It seemed to me that there were two sides to my Mum, and only side to my father. She was like a coin. Two-faced. One face was beautiful, full of life, very lovely, and the other was sad – very sad – and full of resentment. Papa was quiet, almost like an observer. He would usually muss my hair when I did something good and reprimand me quietly when I was bad. I liked it when he reprimanded me. It felt more natural.

Mummy rarely left the house, too. Said that she preferred staying indoors. Her idea of going outside was sitting in the patio, drinking cold apple juice and reading a novel. To me, she seemed like a caged bird that didn't know she could fly out of her cage. I never questioned it, because it was how things worked before I came into the picture. So I brought her things from the outside. She specially loved the wildflowers. "They've got this certain charm, don't you think?" she told me as she placed the wilting blossoms into a vase. "Got more character than the roses I grow..."

Our family had lots of friends.

Only they were usually living out of town.

Mummy's friends were from the church, and I didn't like them very much. They were old. And whenever they came over to visit, they spoke in extremely quiet voices. Sometimes they would send me out. I didn't mind getting sent out – it was much better than hanging out with them. They were so uncool.

Papa never got drunk. But he drank with the workers every night. I often came with him. I loved just being there, hearing them laugh raucously. How did these people have any energy left on them, after working so hard, I always wondered. When I asked my Papa why, he and the others laughed. "It's because we are men!" was their only answer. It was frustrating.

Getting Mummy's attention became very taxing when she was in her mood.

I called her "Other Mother" whenever she was in her mood.

I so wanted to get her out of the Other Mother's shell, but I had the feeling that I caused it. How, I didn't know. She didn't want me around when she was Other Mother... said she was having a headache, so I kept my distance. She would tell me to go play outside, or read. Just stay away from her for the time being. It annoyed me to no end. In the afternoons, I would not be able to resist trying to get her attention. I would on the other end of the couch while she was doing needlework or reading, then inch slowly beside her. I would slide in the space between her waist and arm. She frown but then she would caress my head, as if soothing. Then she would smile.

Oh. I loved her smile.

But I wish her eyes smiled when her lips did.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Ah, this is quite, no, not quite, it is, short. But this is all I have. Hahaha. I think writing this in first-person is better. :)

Is it messed up?

Thank you for reading! Genesis says he'll give a kiss or two if you review. ;)

Please don't forget to drop a comment.

VC


End file.
